Owner	Pose
Wade Wilson	There's a warning, in the form of a text and a jumble of emojis... < Coming to visit your room in like ... seven minutes! Yay! Action and Adventure awaits! IN YOUR ROOM! > The emojis mostly include unicorns, food, weapons, and hearts. There are SO MANY colors and options of hearts!
Steve Rogers	Thing is, when Steve receives the text, he's just leaving after his guest appearance at one of the Veteran's Affairs offices. It had been a promise on his part to visit once a month, the better to be a calming, familiar, and empathetic presence in group meetings. He's also ten minutes out, he realizes, as he pulls out the phone from his windbreaker and looks to see who sent it. Fingers fly. < Beer in the fridge, maybe some pizza. ETA 10 min. > And now there goes the First Avenger, briskly - very briskly - walking back towards the mansion. Look at those arms and legs go, it's a power walk beyond little compare.
Wade Wilson	< OK!!!!! > That's one hell of a lot of exclamation marks. < !!! > Some extras appear. Then a crowd of smileys. < Sorry, sat on my phone. This is hard.> < ...Difficult. Not hard. Maybe hard. You'll see what I mean. > And after those ten minutes, when Steve arrives, he'll find a Wade. Bedroom, seated, arms behind him, with half of a car-door behind his arms on the bed. And a sound that can only be handcuffs. "Captain-Wan Rogers, you're my only hope. Or one of eighty hopes. Like, there are a lot of ways. But I wanted to be on your bed in handcuffs." Flirty, coy.
Steve Rogers	All of these pings! And the last is somewhat foreboding, but Steve has learned to field these instances with great, great aplomb. Mostly great aplomb. He opens his bedroom doors after jogging up the grand staircase of the mansion and to his room to see...nothing out in the living area proper, at least. Noise in the bedroom has him striding over -- please, don't let it be another case of being dragged behind a truck until the suit was ragged again -- to see Wade disposed as such. Mouth falls open. Mouth closes. Hands move to rest on his hips as he opens his mouth a little less widely and looks off to one side and then at the ceiling, squinting. "Y'know, if I'd bet this is what you meant, Wade, I'd've lost," the man allows, tone calm. "Never thought I'd live to see this. Seen a few folks handcuffed to car doors, but never in my -- my bed." His sentence broke due to a huff-laugh of disbelief. Now he looks drily at the Merc. "I left my lockpicks in my other coat, lemme go get 'em," and he thumbs over his shoulder towards the coat hangers as he turns to literally go get his lockpicks.
Wade Wilson	"/On/, not in," Wade helpfully says. He kicks his feet a little off the side of the bed while Steve takes in what is going on. "You're also welcome to break my bones if that's more your speed," Wade calls after Steve loudly, still so helpy. Most helpy. -- When Steve returns, Wade has 'fixed it': he has somehow wriggled his way into getting under the covers partially, with the car-door positioned next to him on the adjacent pillow, as if they'd just had a rumpled good time under the sheets together. Wade is partially sitting up, and trying to twist to use one handcuffed hand to pull the edge of sheet up just a hair more on his hip. "In, now. You're welcome." <3
Steve Rogers	"'m not gonna break your shoulders, Wade," calls the suite-owner from within the living room. He does, in fact, have to hunt a little bit to find his lockpick set -- it was in his semi-formal coat, oddly enough, rather than the pairings of belt-satchels of his stealth suit. Steve returns, frowning down at the small collection of picks, musing which is most likely to fit, and glances up as he reaches the end of the bed. He goes still, eyes wide, and then grimace-laughs. "Wade, you're...you're gonna have to get out from under the sheets if 'm gonna try 'nd get those cuffs off of you. Here, c'mon, out from under the covers." He gestures firmly as he walks to the side of the bed, now reaching for the car door to help maneuver the Merc around.
Wade Wilson	"You're frowning at me, but I feel like I can feel the amusement in your heart, shining on me like an overused tanning bed," Wade describes. Wade does not, in fact, helpy-help to get the sheets down off of him, but does make a muffled sound when Steve pulls on the car door, since his wrists are attached to it. It appears that he is handcuffed, each hand in one cuff, but the metal between them loops around the broken upper windowframe of the car door. There's a multitude of ways to free Wade, as he'd mentioned. Breaking the car door is one, though Wade would still be handcuffed to himself, of course. In one hand? The phone, firmly held, showing the texts he was doing. He's very bendy, to have managed most of that. "Don't like the rough stuff? I respect that. Let me roll onto my face," Wade says, starting to turn. He's chattering a little more but is now muffled in pillow. "Mhhehhrm my butt mmis mmmms hhmm ee."
Steve Rogers	Steve does try to move the car door carefully, both to avoid torquing Wade's joints any further and to spare the -- oh, nope, there goes an edge of metal leaving a grease-lined tear in one of the pillows. Out spills down in a frothy fluff over the edge of the bed and he sighs long-suffering to himself. "Wade, can't hear you when you're talking into the pillow," he reminds the Merc distractedly even as he starts working at the lock with a fairly standard pick, one used to disable the more common lines of police-grade cuffs. It means anchoring one knee on the bed and leaning in while trying not to block the fall of sunlight from the bedroom window. "How'd you even manage this?" the Captain asks dubiously.
Wade Wilson	"AHHHH MMMM SUFF-CADDDDING," Wade muffledly says into the pillow, but then shakes his head with a bouncing wriggle of body to twist his face out from it. "Seriously, this mask also doesn't breathe. Your pillows are too impressive; top smothering quality. I'd expect no less." Wade breathes, deep breath. "It all began with me wanting to be a dinosaur---"
Steve Rogers	Brows knitted, Steve fiddles with the pick. Wade's doing a fairly decent job of staying still until he moves to better breathe. It jostles the pick and the progress out of place. Sighing again, the Captain waits until the Merc is still again and goes back to working at the cuffs. He does pause to look up and over the red-and-black suited shoulder of his comrade. "Wait, Wade," he interrupts. "Dinosaurs?" echoes the man, again dubiously.
Wade Wilson	"Yes, Dinosaurs. You know, maybe this is an X-Men thing, you don't need to overly concern yourself. But I'm pretty sure you're going to see some if you haven't already. Also Gorillas. They can talk, though, so that's a way to sort them out from /ordinary/ dinosaurs and Gorillas. I thought I'd be a great dinosaur, and I'd like to see which one I would be. Which species. There are so many good options for me, but anyway, I was trying to get myself infected by whatever it is, but I fear I'm immune. I'm immune to all the really FUN diseases," Wade rambles. "Seriously though, just squeeze that these fingers until you hear the crunch, then you can just deal with the one hand being stuck on the bracelet and we can unthread this door. Or a knife, but I was being a nice guy to not bleed on your pretty bedding." Wade wiggles the fingers he's talking about. "And I wanted to text."
Steve Rogers	As Wade explains precisely how on earth dinosaurs came into an equation somehow ending with the result of being cuffed to a car door, Steve frowns in focus as he works the pick with great skill once more. This is being...more stubborn than usual, what the hell? Wade wiggles his fingers and the Captain takes a moment to rotate his wrist around carefully to see if -- "Ugh. These're SHIELD grade cuffs, Wade, how'd you manage to get these on you?" It's only a semi-rhetorical question as he sets aside the collection of picks and shucks out of his windbreaker. "Okay, so, if I heard you right: Xavier's is dealing with dinosaurs and gorrilas right now? On their campus?" In a t-shirt grey but for the bright green lettering of JUST DO IT (plus Nike swoosh), he then takes a few moments to flex his fingers and scretch out his arms. Then, putting hands on the cuffs, he finds the weakest point and grits his teeth in a WRENCH of strength.
Wade Wilson	"I was being chatty," Wade says, simply. A simple explanation that actually probably ENTIRELY explains it. He was being /chatty/ and ended up with a SHIELD agent tacking him to a car door, maybe. Or the story could be something else. "I do have the key, but it's in my pants, and you're going to like that even less," Wade says. "Really you can break my hand. I'm far more brittle than the cuffs. And then you can tell all your friends that you punished me good in this action scene."
Steve Rogers	"Action scene...?" echoes Steve in a mutter of confusion even as he pauses to weigh the option of finding the key -- nope. "Look, you're just gonna have to hold still. I can get these off, but these aren't graded for normal folks. They're probably graded for those..." Grunt -- he's got his nails dug into the cuffs now and his upper torso strains. Biceps lift and his teeth flash again ina sliver of a grimace. "...maybe those gorillas you were mentioning -- or the dinosaurs." Metal squeaks. "Keep holding still, almost there," grits the Captain as metal continues to protest his serum-boosted strength.
Wade Wilson	"So in 1992, there was this riotous comedy about a California couple who are kidnapped by a lovestruck intergalactic despot. The leader of the rebellion puts the vital information in his pants in the front. HE wasn't a sexy beast, though; he was played by Eric Idle. I guess that's more an opinion thing: I can see that it would not be safe for me, as I am often considered a sexy beast while in my outfit, regardless. It was logical at the time, and it isn't like I'm shy about my privacy--- ow ow ow!" Wade's possibly half causing the pain himself, since he tried to mash his hand out of the metal part that Steve is actively squeezing. With a crunch, though, the metal breaks enough for Wade to wriggle his wrist free of it with only minor lacerations that could have been avoided if he wasn't wiggling around. "Yay! Fifty percent less car-door!"
Steve Rogers	"Wade, no, you gotta -- " Regardless of the terse words, there is, in fact, one Wade-hand free of one side of the cuffs. Steve huffs a sigh and pauses, his grip left on car door itself. He gives the Merc one of those extremely level looks. "Wade. You have to hold still or you're only gonna to get hurt more if I help you get out of them completely. Look me in the face 'nd tell me you're gonna hold still. All of you, hold still," the man clarifies with a patient set to his mouth and brows lifted. "Can you do this for me?" Even as he asks, he easily lifts the car door up and out of the bed. This gets leaned against the bedside table. More feather-down spills from the single ripped pillow to the floor. This receives a glower and a sigh; he liked that pillow too.
Wade Wilson	Now with a hand free, Wade COULD get the key. But what's the fun in that? Wade sits up, turns around to face Steve with his legs now crossed on the bed, and extends his still captured hand, limp-wristed, directly out towards Steve. And a look in the face. His other hand comes up to cup his own cheek. "I do declare, I shall hold still. But you can hurt me. Or I can hurt myself. It's not a thing with me. Really. I've cut off my hand to escape cuffs before, Stevie. But I am really kind of charmed by your sweetness, so let's do it your way."
Steve Rogers	"If I get a moment or two to be selfish, I really like this bedspread even though it was on sale -- don't tell Janet," he points at Wade, eyebrows lifting. "So I'd rather have you keep your hand attached 'nd get this off you." Still, he then pauses and squints. "No, wait, you said you had the key in your pants. This door needs to go. You work on that, I'll put this outside in the hallway. I can deal with it later," he says as he then unanchors his knee from the bed and reaches to pick up the car door.
Wade Wilson	"Oh, if only I had a nickel for every time someone wanted to take things off of me," Wade sighs. "It wouldn't be much but maybe I'd trigger the jukebox a few times," Wade says, ignoring the handcuff bracelet now as he brings his phone around to poke at it. Soon there's glorius, glorius sexy sax playing, for 'I'll Never Dance Again'. It's instrumental, so at least there's no sining yet. Wade sets the phone aside, and then begins to reach for his pants. Steve might want to rush out of the room if he doesn't want to witness anything else. The theme song and the dim lighting add a certain /mood/ to finding the key.
Steve Rogers	Steve's ears definitely pink. On a quick about-face, he does once more take up the car door and walk to exit the bedroom. He adds, overtop the sultry sudden swingin' saxophone's strains and as he travels across the living room, "Y'know, this reminds me of when I'd first discovered what the serum did to me. Hot off the griddle 'nd I ended up in a gunfight with a HYDRA agent. Picking gravel 'nd glass out of my feet, covered in engine oil." Because this is a tale totally counter to the process of the key's recovery. The bedroom door opens and shuts. Now, there is a car door leaned against the hallway outside of Steve's room. Why? Folks can ask Steve. He continues loudly overtop the music, "Had to use a car door instead of a shield to not get shot." Pausing in the middle of the living room, he considers his nails and works at a metal splinter stuck under one. Ouch.
Wade Wilson	Out from the bedroom sashsays Deadpool. It's an accidental (or not so accidental?) copycat of a Janet movement, quite possibly, leaning in the doorway there, one arm outstretched to the side of the door moulding, the handcuffs dangling from one finger of opposite hand, the finger curled in a come-hither flex. The music seems to be coming from the vicinity of Wade's ass, slightly muffled. "I'll be your car door," Wade flirts. "That sounded better in my head before I said it. In that I didn't hear it before I said it. I don't have a filter, things just kind of tumble from my mouth in unedited rapture."
Steve Rogers	The metal splinter gets disposed of in the small wastebin tucked between mini-fridge and small kitchenette tucked to the wall, Steve's in the process of drying his hands. He hasn't yet glanced over at the bedroom door, still very much able to hear the singer now wailing about how 'guilty feet have got no rhythm'. "'ve got a car door out in the hall, Wade. Don't want anybody shooting at you either." Now comes the glance and Steve pauses, hands tangled up in the drying handtowel. He blinks a few times before clearing his throat. "How 'bout I swap you a beer for those cuffs? Sounds like a fair trade to me, don't you think?" asks the Captain as he then reaches for the mini-fridge's door, the towel tossed over his shoulder.
Wade Wilson	Wade hasn't moved, except to spin the handcuffs on the finger, around and around, skillfully. He's also good at juggling knives and swords and grenades and rubber duckies and chainsaws and infants -- but not topics. No, he is not good at juggling conversation topics: that's more like throwing all the words in the air and staring at them as they fall all around on the floor. And for Wade, that's like being in a booth of strong air blasts where all the money flutters around and he ends up catching some here and there without coherency. But sometimes Wade is coherent. "Sure, what the hell," Wade says, in a Totally Normal Person voice, striding to the small table and setting down the cuffs. He also shuts off the music; it didn't fit his mood anymore. "Your manipulatively kind tone only has two percent patronizing condescension, which is tolerable."
Wade Wilson	"But only for you," Wade cuts in, lifting one finger to his mask's mouth, and then trying to boop Steve's nose with the smoochie-kiss on the finger.